Page 57 of Knot on the Market

The men arrange themselves around the table with unconscious ease. Dean to my right, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his skin. Callum beside him, his steady presence grounding. Julian to my left, far enough away to be proper but close enough that his scent reaches me every time he moves.

Maeve loads my plate with portions that could feed a small army. Roast chicken that falls apart at the touch of a fork, potatoes crispy on the outside and fluffy within, green beans that actually taste like vegetables.

"You need feeding up, girl," she says with the authority of someone who's been nurturing people for decades. "Moving house takes it out of you."

"I'm perfectly healthy," I protest, but I'm already cutting into the chicken, which releases steam that carries the scent of herbs and perfectly rendered fat.

"Healthy, maybe, but not properly fed," Maeve insists. She settles into her own chair, then suddenly claps her hands together with obvious distress.

"Oh, dear," she says, looking genuinely apologetic. "I completely forgot about the charity blanket drive tonight! The quilting circle will be waiting on my batting squares and coffee cake."

That's... convenient, I think, watching as she starts bustling around with renewed energy. Very convenient timing.

"I thought you did quilting on Mondays?" Dean says, looking puzzled.

"Yes, but this is charity quilting," Maeve says quickly. "Completely different schedule."

"Oh," Dean says, and I catch the moment understanding dawns in his eyes. "Well, yes, that's important. Don't worry about us—we'll be fine here."

"You're angels, all of you," Maeve says, pressing a kiss to my cheek. I catch the hint of mischief in her eyes despite her apologetic tone. "You're in good hands, honey. These boys will take care of you."

The way she says it makes it crystal clear this departure is anything but accidental.

"Have a good night!" she calls, and the front door closes with a decisive click.

I sit frozen at the table as the reality settles over me. Alone with three alphas whose combined scents are already makingmy head spin and my body respond in ways I absolutely cannot acknowledge.

"Well," Dean says after a moment, his voice carrying easy confidence. "Guess it's just us for dinner."

They load their plates with practiced efficiency, passing dishes and making casual conversation about the food. But there's an undercurrent to everything—a heightened awareness that makes every interaction feel charged.

"This smells incredible," Julian says, cutting into his chicken. "Maeve's outdone herself."

"She always does when there's company," Dean agrees, then glances at me with a grin. "Especially pretty company she wants to impress."

The casual compliment makes heat creep up my neck, and I focus intently on my potatoes to avoid meeting his eyes.

As we eat, the atmosphere begins to change. Their scents mingle in the warm air. Dean's toasted marshmallow and campfire, Callum's grounding cedar, Julian's sophisticated bergamot blend. The combination creates something intoxicating that makes my pulse quicken and my skin feel too warm.

"So," Dean says around a bite of vegetables, "how's the furniture settling in? That reading chair living up to expectations?"

"It's perfect," I admit, grateful for the safe topic. "I spent last night curled up in it with the poetry book Julian brought."

"The one with the marked page?" Julian asks, his attention sharpening.

"About building something beautiful from broken pieces," I say, noting how his expression warms. "It felt... relevant."

"Important words," Julian says quietly, his dark gaze holding mine. "Sometimes we need reminding that broken doesn't mean worthless."

The way he says it, like he sees those qualities in me, makes my chest tight with something I can't name.

"Good foundation," Callum adds, his deep voice rumbling with approval. "Makes everything else possible."

The easy conversation should help me relax, but I'm becoming increasingly aware of how their scents are affecting me. Heat builds beneath my skin, starting low and spreading outward with each breath. The slick that's been gathering since this afternoon intensifies, making me shift uncomfortably in my chair.

"Any other repairs needed this week?" Callum asks, his voice sending unexpected shivers down my spine. "Anything that needs attention?"

"I think everything's functional," I manage, trying to ignore how his steady gaze makes me want to invent problems just to have him in my space again.

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